


An Unworkable Gig

by Count_Sagula



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drama, Gen, Godaime Uzumaki Naruto, Hokage Uzumaki Naruto, Humor, i have no idea where i am going with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 20:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14363355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_Sagula/pseuds/Count_Sagula
Summary: When Naruto had proclaimed he wanted to become Hokage, he just didn't expect to get the hat so soon. Dealing with backstabbing politicians, demanding teammates, an entirely unhelpful sensei, and a possible war brewing, all Naruto wants to do is settle in for a warm cup of ramen. Too bad Uzumaki Naruto was too stubborn to give up. If only his job wasn't such An Unworkable Gig.





	An Unworkable Gig

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or its characters. Copyrights go to Viz Media and Kishimoto, et cetera, et cetera.

_Konohagakure no Sato_ was not in what one would call in great shape.

The walls were damaged, huge holes present from extreme force, whole sections reduced to rubble. The buildings were not spared either, many demolished, half of those still standing had rather gaping holes that made the constructs as structurally sounds as a house of cards. Homes crushed, families left homeless, wandering the streets bereft of their possessions and their life savings, tears slipping from those grieving over missing or lost loved ones.

No, it was safe to say the Village Hidden in the Leaves was not in what one would call 'mint condition.'

The once safe and lively village was, for the second time in as many decades, left to rebuild from a siege on its walls once more.

The Konoha Crash, as people were bitterly calling it, was an invasion upon their village by the forces of Oto and Suna. It destroyed so much of their great village, from the buildings to the people who lived within its walls, leaving suffering in its wake.

Hate, anger, grief, a myriad of other emotions bubbled up in the citizens, not even the shinobi could resist being swallowed whole by these emotions.

Hope ran low in the people of Konoha. They could rebuild, this generation had done it not even two decades before, but this time, there was no Yondaime to rescue them bringing some miraculous jutsu to take away the threat, to inspire them as the shaggy blonde-haired man in a theatrical white coat with flames dancing around the bottom trim with the words 'Yondaime Hokage' embroidered down its back, riding atop a massive toad that carried an equally massive sword.

No, their Hokage, an elderly man who had to returned from retirement some thirteen years prior out of a desperate need of leadership and reassurance despite being long past his prime, was laid out in a hospital bed, trapped in a coma, fighting for every breath he drew.

Their forces, bereft of the genius and numbers of the Uchiha Clan who once policed the village, all sorely missed, despite their massive egos and haughty arrogance. There were so few who bore mysterious, red spinning eyes that granted abilities that should have long been discovered and become commonplace, yet somehow still weren't.

None of the genius the likes of Uchiha Mikoto, whose blade so sharp, so swift, her form able to disappear in the space between heartbeats, to be replaced by a falling leaf, or a pebble, or even a drop of water. No Shunshin no Shisui, infamous for his whizzing, dizzying speed, locking an enemy in an illusion so complex that they would remain trapped for a full week, not that its caster needed them immobile for less than ticks of a clock. No Uchiha Itachi, prodigious thirteen-year-old Anbu Captain, current S-rank missing-nin, responsible for the massacre of his own clan.

The Akimichi helped, those lovable, friendly giants defending against the monstrous summons, crushing invaders under their feet, literally. The Yamanaka too, their abilities jumbling the minds of their enemies and sowing chaos in their ranks. The Nara, likewise, held their enemies at bay, strangling them with their own shadows.

The Hyūga, the Inuzuka, the Aburame, each and every Konoha shinobi clan fought in defense of their home, alongside every other Konoha nin in the city.

They helped keep their enemies away, but they could do little for the grieving widows, bitter and self-loathing lone members of families suffering survivor's guilt, furious and dismayed denizens that lost their life savings, their very families, their life's work, and so much more.

The shinobi couldn't do much for all the tired people wallowing in depression, guilt, anger, regret, hate, and, most of all, hopelessness.

"Tajū Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!" A young, awfully familiar voice called out. A massive cloud of smoke and a heartbeat later, the crumbling streets were filled with thousands upon thousands of bright orange-clothed teenagers.

"Men, get to work! No dillydallying, you hear me?" The young, childish voice barked out a command.

"Yessir, Boss!" Thousands of matching voices responded in chorus, each snapping off a salute and spreading all throughout the village.

It wasn't shaggy hair, rather scruffy, but it was still blonde and unruly. It wasn't a white overcoat with a subtle yet dramatic flair, but an overly bright orange and blue that clashed in a childish sort of way, but it was still eye-catching. There wasn't a massive toad with a man's back protecting them, instead, it was thousands of clones, all eager to help, to work, but there was still a figure that stood on top of a (not quite structurally sound) building, looking over his village.

There were no spinning red eyes, but a single soulful, bright blue that practically shined in its brilliance.

No swift and flowing blade-work, no remarkable agility and instant illusions, no prodigious talent blossoming from a young age that eventually broke away to madness.

There was just a short young man, barely an adolescent, standing upon a slightly damaged high-rise, peering down at his village with his lone innocent and stunning blue eye, a grin stretched across his face as his scruffy, unmanageable yellow hair rustled in the wind.

He may not be so skilled, so feared and revered, as their precious Yondaime was, nor was he so experienced, so adaptable, so wise and knowledgeable as the Yondaime's predecessor, and unfortunate successor, but he had a strength to him, a weight on his shoulders from the day he was born. He walked the crowded streets and bore their hatred on his lonesome, yet he had the grit, the steel, the determination to persevere and carry on, refusing to back down, to let them get the best of him, swallowing his fear and tears so that none could see them.

He may not be legendary, drowning in monikers and titles and fame, but in that moment, when looked upon by those who were hurting, self-loathing, angry and bitter, drowning in their hatred, grieving and hopeless, they found the sight of a short blonde child in eye-catching orange and blue looking over them, undaunted by the death and destruction he glimpsed from his vantage point, was enough for them to push down their suffering and carry on for another day.

The thousands of bright grins bearing mismatched hands, one bright sapphire shining, the other hidden behind slanted forehead protectors, with the determination to help whoever they could certainly didn't hurt.

III

When Uzumaki Naruto's name was thrown out, it had been in jest. The countless higher-ranked shinobi whose opinions were all too important, yet so insignificant, had been stressed. Their village was half buried in rubble, severely damaged buildings just waiting for the right whip of wind to topple down, endangering even more lives.

Too many lost their homes, casualties both civilian and shinobi alike staggering into the hundreds, possibly thousands, and far too many injured and wounded, waiting for the too few overworked, exhausted, and undoubtedly delirious medic-nins to come to them for a break from the pain and misery that threatened to swallow their lives.

Yet, here they were, dozens of able bodies, each at least a Jōnin, Tokubetsu or otherwise was irrelevant, stuck in a room. Their village needed them, the wails and pleas of their people reaching even their secluded ears while their leader was stuck in a coma, not one, but two of their precious few medic-nin constantly at the frail, elderly man's bedside, making sure no further complications could occur.

When Ono Tsubaki, former lover of the traitor Mizuki, a permanent black mark stamped on her nowhere official yet sickening and dangerous all the same, threw out the genin's name, it had been done in jest, hoping to break the stressed and strained tension engulfing the room. She had even laughed a little herself, a small, nervous chuckle, not at all meaning for it to be taken seriously.

Yet, she received no such laughter.

They had been stuck in that room, with few bathroom breaks and to guzzle down a nutrition pill with a bottle of water, for two and a half days. Their nerves were frayed, exhaustion was creeping in, both mental and physical, some even emotional, and, at that moment, any suggestion who wasn't wrapped in a veil of lies and schemes, cloaking some hidden agenda of their own, and willing to take the position seemed desirable.

Instead of laughter, the suggestion got thoughtful looks, each shinobi measuring the blonde, ramen-obsessed genin. He wasn't all that intelligent, though he was still young. He had graduated as the dead last of his year, yet he was able to fend off Suna's jinchūriki, who fully released his Bijū, somehow converting the seemingly violent sociopath into a polite and docile, if emotionally stunted, young man; it was some persona or façade, Morino Ibiki had personally checked.

Even after all that, he raced back towards the stadium, crashing onto the rooftop that held the barrier trapping the Sandaime with his missing-nin student and the mind-controlled resurrected forms of the first two leaders of their village.

The Anbu hadn't been able to make it through the barrier, though Jiraiya had certainly been working furiously towards that goal but he was just not fast enough, ironic, given his most famous student. The dead last, rookie genin in bright orange, cheery smile and all, shouldered through one of history's most extreme cases of chakra exhaustion, called up as much of the Kyūbi's chakra he could handle without dropping dead, for the boy certainly wasn't going to allow mere unconsciousness to dampen his spirits, to the point where his skin was peeling away, and charged into one of the corners of the barriers, killing the Oto-nin with two heads that supported the barrier, causing it to come crashing down.

The fact that he had interrupted the Hokage's suicide technique, the same one that the Yondaime was rumored to have used, and somehow saving the man's life because of it, despite his grievous injuries, wasn't easily forgotten.

The Great Naruto Bridge and the new trading contract with Nami no Kuni wasn't either.

"He has my vote," Kakashi said, a rare instance of his signature orange book nowhere in sight. The man's vote of confidence raised quite a few brows and got a few scoffs, though it only served to agitate a certain white-haired Sannin.

"Brat, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Jiraiya whispered to the man, despite knowing that everyone in the room could hear.

"Giving Naruto my vote of support," the masked said with a tired eye smile.

"You may be his jōnin-sensei, but I trained that brat for a month, and he is definitely not ready for the job. I would know, seeing as I trained the Yondaime," Jiraiya whispered furiously, a growl leaving his throat.

"The village is weakened, which means that I won't be able to look after my cute little genin, who, need I remind you, are the current iteration of Team Seven, which always, always, seems to fall apart," Kakashi began, his voice low as his curved eye sharpened. "Whether because one turns into a missing-nin with a Sharingan fetish, another a gambling drunk, too traumatized by her grief to even stand the sight of a mere drop of blood, or one is a wandering, peeping tom, who writes porn and fucks every girl in a whorehouse in every town he passes through, ignoring his responsibility of his own godson while chasing after his wayward teammate."

"Kakashi-," the last unquestionably loyal Sannin growled under his breath.

It was too late, the floodgates were open and the Copy-Nin refused to stop, barely even acknowledging his fellow white-haired shinobi. "And let's not forget the one who spends hours staring at the names of his dead team, one silenced by an avalanche of rock after begging to have his eye yanked out of his skull and gifted to the half-blind teammate he saved by pushing him out of the way of a cave-in, a perpetual reminder of that surviving teammate's failure, while the other got a fistful of lightning through her chest by the teammate who had made a promise to keep safe to the boy who loved her and died to protect the one she loved instead of him!"

Kakashi's snarling visage and booming voice pausing to hitch a small breath before he spat out, "Not to mention their sensei, the Hokage! The man who watched his team grumble to ash while he desperately tried to keep the last one sane by denying his constant demands for S-ranked missions, who gave up his life, damning his soul to rot in the intestines of the Shinigami for the rest of eternity, all so that he could seal the Kyūbi into his own fucking son!"

Silence reigned for a moment as Kakashi caught his breath in an effort to regain what composure he could before he spoke again. When he did, his voice softer, strained by his exhaustion, and utterly resigned to his misery.

"The most stable of my genin is the orphan jinchūriki whose been reviled and neglected and looked down upon all his life," Kakashi spoke in a bare whisper. "The 'Last Uchiha' has been branded with a curse seal created by a mind so twisted, the Sandaime was too shocked and horrified that he couldn't even muster the courage to fight his student, your former teammate, Jiraiya, the same man who whispers promises of power to a revenge-obsessed, traumatized young boy, whose mental state at any given moment is a hair trigger away from tossing a coin to choose between a total shutdown and another massacre, that was _before_ he had been branded, while the one who should be the most stable is stuck watching the whirlwind of relentless power and ambition driving her teammates and feels utterly incompetent in comparison, so excuse me for wanting at least one of my genin achieve their dreams before they're offed, and if said genin just so happens to have a team of Anbu always protecting him while he sits in the safety of the Hokage's Office, far, far away from the S-ranked missing-nins that seem dead-set on hunting him down because of the thing his supposedly genius of a father jammed into his stomach, hidden behind a few squiggles of ink, blood, and chakra, without his permission."

None dared to speak in the silence that followed. They had no intention of being the poor sap that had to deal with an A-rank, bordering S-rank, Hatake in the middle of a meltdown; they didn't make Jōnin by being that stupid.

"You claim to have taught the Yondaime, yet all you could teach his son in a month was how to summon toads and draw on the lowest form of the Kyūbi's chakra by throwing him off a goddamn cliff?" Kakashi said flatly, his orange book making an appearance in his hands once more. "If that's all you can accomplish in a month, I don't want you anywhere near your godson, ya know, the one you avoided for more than twelve years, further cementing his erroneous belief that his family abandoned him because there was something wrong with him when the real fault was in the cowardice of his piece-of-shit godfather."

No more words were said by the white-haired shinobi, and no shinobi was willing to comment on anything the man had pointed out. It was the polite thing to do, not to mention the action least likely to get a Raikiri rammed down one's throat. If not even the Sannin, who had previously been glaring bloody murder at the masked shinobi and seemed to currently be doing his best in becoming the physical personification of shame, guilt, and regret, dared to speak after Kakashi's thorough deconstruction of said Sannin's character, was willing to comment, no one else was willing to risk electrical burns to their esophagus.

They were all shinobi, a career whose description included grave-robbery, in the fine print as to not scare away the civilians, and they were very reluctant to put much faith in superstitions, especially considering how skilled and experienced each and every one of them was.

Despite that, they were all well aware of the tragic history of all those with (mis)fortune of becoming Team Seven. They knew that any genin that had that stroke of luck of being assigned to that team was sentenced to a life of hardship that would either crush them under Fate's heel, twist them into some horror-show that would make their own mother stare at them in disgust, or become a legend like no other. There was a reason that twice a year, a week before a semester at the Shinobi Academy ended and a new batch of students would be tested for graduation, every Clan Head arranged a meeting with the Hokage so that they could make it clear, in no uncertain terms, were any of their graduating clan members to be thrown into the shit-show that was Team Seven.

Many Genin and Chūnin thought that Hatake Kakashi's failing of genin year after year was due to impossible standards or personal bias against the children. The Jōnin had no such delusions, knowing full well that only those guaranteed to fail were given to the man, as no Shinobi Clan was willing to send one of their children into that nightmare just waiting to happen.

It was a sad fact that Haruno Sakura had been thrown into that team only because her parents didn't have the weight of a clan backing them to prevent such a thing. The poor girl was stuck beside her two teammates, two legends in the making, what with their heritage and their circumstances. She had no choice but to do everything she could to keep pace with the two behemoths that charged forward relentlessly, unwilling to allow their growth and ambition to be hampered by anything, whether it was eroding vision, a missing hand and eye, or the bitch that called herself Fate.

It was that thought, that knowledge that the Jōnin in the room considered. Any who have survived this far while assigned to Team Seven, more or less whole was to be noted; persevering through the worst case of the C-rank Curse since Gai, Ebisu, and Genma had encountered the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist was one thing, but a mad scientist S-rank missing-nin breaking into a survival exam out to test them, who was not known for sparing those he found unimpressive? An invasion by two Hidden Villages? A psychotic jinchūriki letting his Bijū out to play? Breaking down a barrier designed to hold off the previously encountered Bijū who may decide to turn on those within, a barrier that flummoxed Jiraiya of the Densetsu no Sannin along with a handful of Anbu helping him?

All in the room were Jōnin, each and every one of them had fought and earned their rank and held no compunctions about proving their worth, but few, if any, dared to think they could have survived all that the latest iteration of Team Seven has as they currently were, much less when they were genin. It was out of respect for the current Team Seven, for they had at least some measure of it from each Jōnin in the room after the shit-show their lives after graduation had become, that kept them from speaking.

"I give my vote for the Uzumaki boy."

The aged, but firm, voice that eventually broke the silence shocked many, if not all, of the shinobi present. Shimura Danzō, the not-so-secret leader of the officially disbanded Root, voting for someone like Uzumaki Naruto, who, based on Academy reports alone, had neither the skill, nor the intelligence, nor the experience, nor the power, nor even the proper mindset he so heatedly demanded, to become Hokage? The mere thought alone would cause any shinobi worth their salt to seriously consider checking themselves into the psych ward.

(They wouldn't actually go through it, what with the appropriate level of paranoia instilled in every shinobi of their level, but that they would seriously consider it was telling enough.)

"Your reasoning, Danzō-sama?" Nara Shikaku asked tiredly, his exhausted and overworked mind not functioning well enough to understand the man's devious intentions in his latest course of action; everything that man did was devious, whether brainwashing children or skipping around in a field of flowers, that man never failed to be appropriately menacing.

"A large portion of it was already said by Hatake. The only truly stable member of Team Seven is the Uzumaki. The boy, despite his horrendous grades, seems to be growing at an astounding pace, not to mention his mastery of the Kage Bunshin, the version listed in the Forbidden Scroll of Seals," Danzō explained, alarming a small number of those present, including the Yamanaka Clan Head, with that last piece of information; Shikaku had no clue what the seemingly handicapped man was referring to, but whatever made his blonde teammate pale like that was certainly something to worry about.

Before Shikaku could do much more than look in his teammate's direction, Danzō continued. "Even now, a mere two days from when the he had passed out from severe chakra exhaustion, he has thousands of clones spread across the village, doing everything he can do to rebuild our great village. I may not abide by Hiruzen's softness, but right now, the people are in need of someone they can look up to, someone they believe in. Right now, he is the best candidate available, and he would certainly have my vote over that godfather of his."

While the speech was a nice touch, especially the final statement that played off Kakashi's near meltdown, the Nara Clan Head didn't buy it for a second.

Danzō had always wanted the Hokage seat for himself and there was no way he would allow someone so idealistic and naïve as Naruto to get the seat when there was a clear shot at getting it for himself.

As Shikaku was trying to figure out what Danzō was up to, the others in the room started to speak to others in low tones, a few pitching their votes in support of the blonde's nomination. He wasn't too concerned about the vote at this point, he already knew that the genin was going to get the seat; Uzumaki Naruto was the best candidate for the Hokage position, Danzō's true beliefs on the matter were irrelevant in the face of that truth.

Sure, he was just barely a teenager, and still a genin, but he was the Yondaime's son. He may not be all that powerful, but he was a jinchūriki, he had the incarnation of hatred sealed on his stomach, and if that isn't powerful, the Nara Clan Head didn't know what was. His intelligence wasn't the best, but a bit of studying, especially with those clones of his, and a few appropriate advisors could work as a filter until he matured some more.

Despite those arguments, Shikaku knew that the real reason Naruto was the ideal candidate was because nobody else actually wanted such an unworkable gig. There were plenty of Jōnin that could do the job, and do it well, but they lacked the drive, the ambition, to truly thrive in that seat, for it wasn't enough to have someone merely hold the position; the village would stagnate, and a shinobi that doesn't evolve, doesn't adapt, is a dead shinobi.

Naruto, on the other hand, wanted the opposite of what most sane shinobi realized about the position. The crazy blonde, unknowingly proving that he really was related to the enigmatic genius that was his father, actually wanted to be stuck in that seat and charged with running the entire village.

With a quick utterance of his son's favorite phrase, Shikaku broke out of his thoughts and threw in his own vote for the blonde genin, timed just right so to prevent people from holding back after the first rush of agreements tapered off; after all, if the Jōnin Commander was voting for the brat, those who've already thrown their weight behind the brat had to be onto something.

A lot would soon to be riding on Naruto's shoulders; the entire village, his entire world, but Shikaku was sure the boy could handle it. If not, well, the man was sure that the kid could keep throwing clones at the job until it all worked out.

Besides, he would be there to help the kid out, and if he couldn't, well, Shikaku supposed it was time to kick his son's ass in gear.

Before he could do that, there was one last thing to settle before the majority of them could all leave.

"Who's going to tell the kid?"

"Not it!" All of the shinobi said, their fingers touching their noses before Shikaku could even blink. Hell, even Danzō fucking Shimura had a finger on his nose.

"How troublesome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: ~4k – FFN Publish Date: 3/18/2018 - AO3 Publish Date: 4/18/2018
> 
> For those who are wondering why I'm working on another Hokage!Naruto story, or if this feels like something similar to my other stories, read my profile bio. I probably have a couple more of these swimming around somewhere in my head, but I'll probably restrain myself to this one and The Reluctant Rokudaime (is it bad that I still have trouble remembering whether that story's title's third word is Rokudaime or Hokage? They sound similar enough that I forget). Though, I might have some crack versions up, which would be weird because I get the feeling that The Reluctant Rokudaime will be border on crack a few times.
> 
> I'm sure you readers have noticed some weird things in the chapter, I just want to say, no, they are not mistakes. In order for me to get Naruto into the Hokage's seat without the story becoming straight up crack or turning this story into one of those stories that canon Naruto is all just a 'mask' to hide how utterly badass he is for whatever reason, not that there is anything wrong with that, assuming its written well (you know who you are, or, you should, because it's painful to read those kinds of stories), I took the liberty of making what happened to Team Seven after graduation AU. You'll come to understand some of those changes in the next chapter, at least, the ones that are rather difficult to keep hidden for any appreciable (I think I'm using that word right) measure of time.
> 
> As with The Reluctant Rokudaime, and really, probably all of my stories, I have no idea when I'll have the next chapter out, whether it is in the next month or next year(s; gosh, I hope that's not the case). Except for one-shots, those are done. Probably. Maybe. Whatever.
> 
> Until next time, don't die.


End file.
